


The Forbidden Love: Count Kirkland

by GevDoesWrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Origin Story, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GevDoesWrites/pseuds/GevDoesWrites
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy, a homeless traveler, ignores the villager's warnings after he enters a mysterious small manor hidden in the dark woods. He soon finds out that man, who is the only one of his own kind, inhabits this small manor. But everything is not what they seem..MAJOR TW: There's is graphic depictions of violence and blood, as well as mentions of death and sickness. I suggest that you do not read this if you can't handle seeing any of the following mentioned. Thank you <3------------I was inspired by the classic Dracula movie from 1958 and the movie Interview With a Vampire to write this, so uh... yeah. Hope y'all enjoy.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Origins and Disbelief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No time era is set for this vampire au

They had always talked about him, one would be too young enough to not know why. But everyday, in his bygone childhood days that is, the young French boy grew up hearing about the man who was described as the embodiment of Satan. He had heard many things, creepy things, horrible things about this peculiar man. They said his eyes were piercing lime green in the dark, always watching everyone while they slept in their cozy little home. In false light, his face was dangerously pale and horrible flawless; to the point where no imperfections could be seen from a naked eye. Those were the only bit's of detail he kept with him, the things about pale faces and green eyes. 'This man sounds like some sort of witch', he would think to himself. 

Stories about this man sprouted just when the Frenchman was only turning four years old. That man's tombstone was tilted and uprooted, and someone had spread a rumor saying that he had seen him crawl out of his crypt; he never rotted within the past sixty years after his demise. Ever since that day, he then heard all the stories of people mysteriously dying. They became pale, and lifelessly cold to the touch, and two circular and deep bite marks were found on their necks. The Frenchman feared that he would die from this mysterious monster someday, but at the same time he knew better than to believe in a scary story. 

He remembered everything. The story started off with a wealthy Englishman who was married to a beautiful journalist, and had a handsome son. His life seemed pretty normal until his wife suffered from Dengue fever and had died, leaving him and his son behind. The Englishman began to develop bad drinking problems ever since the passing of his wife, and his son was no different. He began robbing other people and committing murders. Sometimes he would often come home and begin to emotionally abuse his own father, the Englishman was too vulnerable to stand up for himself. These days began to grow long and deadly. The whole backstory ended with the Englishman's own son brutally killing him, by repeatedly stabbing areas in his chest, legs, and back. He continued even after he died, and once his son has had enough bloodshed; he left him there in the pool of his own blood on the porcelain kitchen floors. It was a cold afternoon on a Thursday in September when he had passed, they had told him, and his son was never spoken of again. It left the Frenchman in such fascination about the man, despite the fear of being killed by him. Has his spirit resurrected? Nobody knew for sure, and even today he would hear everyone tell the new generation this tragedy. 

The Frenchman went into a small little Tavern around the corner of these cobblestone streets. It was seven forty-eight in the morning and the rain poured from the darkened heavens. His warm hands clenched onto his cloak and his bag, ignoring the wetness and only focused on keeping warm. He had went inside, and was greeted with the smell of warm bread and honey tea. The Tavern seemed very crowded this morning, the Frenchman sat at a dusty table that resided in a small partially lit corner. Watching everyone chat about work and eat their breakfast, the Frenchman began to search for any spare food he had packed into his sac. He had money, but it wasn't enough to eat anything fancy. 

"Fancy seeing you here, Francis.", a freckled face woman greeted him with a heart-warming smile. Francis looked up, soon smiling at the woman once he had noticed her. 

"Good morning, Ensley." He greeted back as the woman sat down. She took her fancy purple barrette off of her head and took off her coal black gloves. Her russet eyes examined Francis, who was still soaked and shivering from the rain outside. The Frenchman licked his thin bow-shaped lips as his sapphire eyes veered out to the window. The rain had stopped, but the horrible chill and bits of darkness remained in the sky. Ensley grabbed Francis' warm hand, and held it. "I'm just glad I ran into you, I have been feeling rather worrisome..." She spoke suddenly and quite quickly, but not too quick for Francis to be able to understand her. Francis attention drew back the freckled redhead, not noticing that his hand was being held by hers. He was used to it anyway, Ensley always did this to him; still unsure why. "Why so worrisome? Is it still about your sister, Brielle?" Francis asked. Ensley nodded before resting her hand on her other hand in response.

"I hadn't seen her for the past four days, Francis. She said she would be home before supper."

"When was the last time you had seen her?"  
  
"Like I said, four days ago, and she was there at my doorstep."

"Hm.." Francis began to wonder what could had happened to Brielle. He didn't knew the woman much, but he still wanted to help Ensley. The poor woman was trying to hide the fear, Francis was able to see the look in her heart shaped freckles face. The church bells from outside began to chime to mark the next hour, it was now eight in the morning. Ensley then began to ask, "You.. you don't think she came across that mad-man and was killed, do you?" Francis responded with a disappointed furrow and sighed. His will to help her had soon faded, he was tired of hearing about the scary things about this man in general. But, he knew it would be rude to tell her to get over herself and her sister. 

"I don't think he even exists, but I suggest you tell someone about the whereabouts of your sibling." The Frenchman then replied. 

A few hours had passed, and the overcast continued to linger. Francis wandered around the small town, it seems that his little friend was not the only one dealing with a missing someone. He had been on and off overhearing conversations about closed ones to strangers going missing suddenly. He didn't had too many friends, although he did seem to worry. It's like everywhere he had turned, every minute someone is either dying or already dead. From a woman's sister missing for four days to a even a man missing for more than a month, Francis felt a little twinge of suspicion. He began to wonder who is stealing all these people, and why. Suddenly, Francis came to a halt when he saw a small crowd form up ahead. He approached to investigate, but couldn't see what the crowd was looking at. The Frenchman was able to hear the murmurs and words that slipped off of people's lips. 

"Oh my god.. the mad-man's got her.."

"The poor soul, she's gone!"

Francis was now able to get a view. There was a corpse of a young woman in her nightgown, pale and lifeless on the cold cobblestone floor. There was a small pool of blood, from the deep bite mark on her neck that was oozing with blood; slowly dripping out. Whoever did this, must had took a kill too quick to finish his or her business. One of her eyes was closed, the other was partially opened only to make out the whiteness of her eyeball. The corpse seemed to have been there since last night, but it was still fresh. He stared in horror, as he began to back away from the crowd. As Francis walked away however, he began to hear more and more about the mad-man. Talking about he was the one who did this and they needed to track him down. The Frenchman rolled his eyes, he really hated hearing about this mad-man now. It's like everywhere he goes, it was all "Mad-man this!", and "Mad-man that!" Francis wanted to turn around to some others and tell them to shut up about it, but he kept to himself and avoided and possible fights he would've had. He was so annoyed that he actually began to have an idea, an awful idea.. 


	2. Red Crucifix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of death.

"I'm going to prove to you that he doesn't exist by taking you to the woods."

"Be careful, Francis.." 

The afternoon sun lit up the beautiful woods, the tall pine trees surrounded the area. There was no exact path created, so Francis and Ensley went in any direction they had wanted to. The Frenchman had remembered that the man lived in isolation, he and his friend agreed that if he doesn't show up; Francis would be right about the mad-man not existing. The air around them seemed a little warmer than the coldness from the morning rainstorm, nearby was the sound of water flowing though a small flume and the calls of starlings. Ensley examined the tree tops, and the small patches of sunlight that broke through the branches and jade green leaves. They came across that small flume, where the wet boulders and cobbles coated in green moss laid. The flowing water twinkled in the sun's light, Francis observed the flume as he carefully skipped onto each boulder; getting across the small flume. Ensley followed, holding onto her lime green dress as she too examined the small flume. The two made it onto the other side, there was now a small little dirt path that led to downed mossy twigs and big bushes. The two scanned their eyes at the bushes and twigs and back down at the dirt road that mysteriously appeared on the other side of the small flume. Ensley hesitated to lay a hand on the bushes to see what lied on the other side, but chose not to and began to turn back around; willing to head back home to the small village. 

"Wait a moment..." Francis said softly, stopping Ensley before she left. The two began to approach closer to the twigs and bushes that blocked their way into the unknown. The Frenchman moved the bushes and twigs out of the way as the two of them stepped through, they soon froze in place when their eyes caught sight on a disturbing graveyard. There were giant bloody crosses, giving off a big warning sign that the two travelers must leave these forbidden woods. On the bloody crosses were names of people, possibly buried in these hellish graves. There on the tree bark that laid beside one of the crosses were numerous signs, surrounding the bloody crypt. One of them reads: _"ABANDON ALL HOPE HE WHO ENTER HERE."_ , and another _"BEWARE, FOR THE DEAD TRAVEL FAST."_ Francis and Ensley began to have horrible chills go down their spine, they couldn't stop looking at the vicious crypt that was warning the two to not go beyond the point they stood.

"Oh my god.. what is this place, Francis?" The freckled faced red-head asked the Frenchman nervously.

"I do not know.. but whatever it is, I think we should head back before we get ourselves into trouble." 

The news of the bloody crypt spread like a fire back in the old village, people began to wonder if their missing loved ones and friends were purposely buried there; no, no, that wouldn't be. Ensley and Francis were questioned by authorities and what they have seen, and it is now been stated to everyone that nobody can't go beyond the southern outskirts of the village. 'Weird..' Francis began to think to himself. 'Everywhere else is fine but south.' He went back inside the old tavern where everyone went to have their meals, but the Frenchman was in no mood for food. Because he had nowhere else to go, he was staying upstairs where had gone. He moved the strands of golden locks out of his face as he set his navy blue cloak aside on a nearby bench. The image of the crosses from the crypt remained in his head. As much as the signs tried to drive him away, he only gained more interest and motivation to go deeper in more. But, the people were already told not go south beyond the village. He looked down at his hand-me-down bag, digging his hand in it and pulled out an old vintage compass. The outside base gleamed with copper while the insides were paved with gold. At the bottom of the copper lid reads, _"The path to fate becomes the way back home."_ engraved in script lettering and carved in roses. The black arrow pointed West, Francis looked up from the compass and looked into the direction the arrow pointed him in. There on the wall was a window, the white sun began to turn back to it's golden color; it was just about sun down. Lighting up the wooden floors and Francis' black hiking boots, it felt very warm to the touch and was lucent. '..I have to go back there, I won't stop until I see what's beyond this village.' He thought to himself. 

He got up to head downstairs, but was soon stopped by Ensley before doing so. She was there with an elderly woman, and a young man, and she was weeping. Francis brought his handkerchief out and offered it to the red-headed woman, "What happened..?" He asked worrisomely. Ensley didn't answer, and the young man next to her comforted her. The elderly woman stepped in, appeared to be in her mid sixties. "You must be Francis, Ensley told me all about you." Her thin raspberry lips moved. They exchanged handshakes, "Nice to meet you, you must be her mother.. oui?"

"Yes I am, I'm Nevaeh Baker. I'm here with my daughter because I learned just now that Brielle, my youngest daughter, passed away." 

Francis frowned, turned to Ensley and had said, "My condolences dear, I am so sorry for your sister's loss.." He turned around back towards the bench, and sat with Nevaeh. The spent all hour together, all exchanging various memories they had with Brielle. Ensley shared a few, but not very much. Francis was told that the unfortunate soul was only twenty-four when she suddenly perished, and that her body was found a few miles from the bloody crypt where he once was. The suspicion began to grow in the Frenchman, he knew something had to be done; And if it was anyone, he would be the one to do so. Everyone in this little village seemed so scared to even investigate on why everyone was mysteriously disappearing and dying, and only made up the mad-man story to cover up their hysteria; Francis knew everything. 


	3. Cold Blooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's the author here! Sorry for my absence, I had lost motivation to write for a while, but I have returned! Also grab your popcorn this chapter is gonna be a long one.  
> [Also: Happy Valentine's Day!]

The sun was setting, though because of the dense fog it was hard to tell. Most were unable to make out the glow of the golden sun, and couldn't tell what the time exactly was. Francis had said his goodbyes before he ventured off into the woods. "Be careful!" Ensley called out. That was the last thing Francis would hear before entering into the unknown that is the forbidden woods. The woods hadn't changed much at all, Francis was already familiar with stray twigs that had fallen. The leaves on the ground were dry as the air itself, and they were all caramel brown. They made crunching sounds whenever against the surface of the black leather boots whenever the Frenchman took a step. He went west, then made a turn for the south to surpass the given boundaries. The Frenchman did not have many supplies on him, only his compass and some food. Francis figured he wouldn't need to fight anyone, he remembered being told by his red-haired friend to take weapons with him. But of course, he ignored the advice given to him. Some villagers begged him not to go beyond the outskirts, but Francis was too determined and heavily curious. He came across the same small flume and the mossy boulders, where he witnessed the bloody crypt. This time, Francis didn't cross the flume that lead to the horrors beyond the bushes; but instead following the flume down to where it led to. Admiring the flume once more, he watched the vivid flow of stream trickle down through the cracks of prehistoric walls. 

It was getting darker by the hour, and Francis got distracted by the nature surrounding him. He soon realized this, and began to look down at his compass again, but of course he couldn't tell where he was supposed to go. "Why isn't the arrow moving?" He thought aloud, starting to feel that pinch of anxiety. He looked up, light was almost completely gone. The sky faded from a dark turquois to a very dark blue, there were little tints of light; stars were just starting to appear.

'Merde! It's too late to continue now, looks like I need somewhere to stay for the night...' Francis put the vintage compass back into the red sac he carried and began heading in further and further into the dark side, hoping to find light or any sign of civilization perhaps. The only thing that had comforted the Frenchman was the sound of crickets and little toads. The air grew cold, and Francis began to shiver and his teeth chattered. He rubbed his arms, in an attempt to warm himself up and mellow out the sudden frost bite. Suddenly, something ahead caught Francis' eyes, causing him to come to a halt in his path. He looked up, and in front of him was a small English manor. The walls and chimneys were made of stone, the roofs were as black as coal, and there had seem to be no light coming from the window. Francis' first impression was that whoever lived here must either gone out or fallen asleep, but it was way too dark to be going out and too early in the evening to be asleep. But he didn't matter at all, he sprinted his way down the dirt path and approach the front door of the manor. It was an old, run-down, six panel door with and antique knocking handle. It's golden touch was fading by time, rusting up; leaving black splatters and scratches. Francis examined the door before making a knock with the handle. When the Frenchman tried to make a knock, the handle had suddenly broken off and fell to the ground. The sound of it hitting the ground had startled him. He was soon distracted when his eyes caught the door opening on it's own. Francis knew it was rude to go into a home that was not his uninvited or unannounced, but he stepped inside to get away from the cold air and wilderness that is the woods. 

"Hello..? Anyone here?" He called out, looking around. Even inside, he couldn't see a thing. Everything was still and quiet, too quiet as if it were the calm before a big storm. Then suddenly, the door had shut on Francis. He turned around and went to open it back up, but he was now locked inside the manor. He struggled all he could, grunting. "Come on you stupid door, open up!" 

"Please stop that, you'll break it from its hinges." A spine-chilling voice came about, soon distracting the Frenchman from his door issue. Francis froze and looked around the darkness, wondering where that voice was coming from. The silence came back once more, then fell again as the voice continued to speak to the Frenchman. "Stay awhile, I rarely have company these days.." His voice possessed an English accent, and something about his tone put Francis at ease; yet only added fuel to his suspicions. Suddenly, a man arose out from the darkness. Francis first had caught a glimpse of his round face, he was dead pale and dark circles resided under his prominent eyes. His eyebrows were robust in thickness, creating a soft arch at the very end. To add on, his ever green irises that had stood out from the bloodshot redness of his eyes had captivated the Frenchman in mysterious wonder. The way the Englishman had dressed was heavily presentable and formal, on the end of his sleeves were white ruffles and he wore a navy blue suit with light blue floral patters. At the bottom he wore black Cossack trousers that matched his classic Oxford shoes. The first thing Francis was able make out was the natural musk of the man, he smelled like death; it was putrescent as if he was a walking bag of rotting flesh. He wasn't bothered by it, he was used to the smell of unclean peasants, stables, and the bartender's breath at the old tavern. 

"Please, sir, make yourself at home while I go fix up some tea." The Englishman offered.

Despite him not being bothered by his smell, Francis murmured under his breath; "What's up with that awful niff you're going about?"

The Englishman glanced back at the Frenchman, he kept a straight face despite his rude remark. "I can hear you, you know. And do pardon this indecent smell, I must had forgotten to clean up." He went into the other room. Within a blink of an eye the lights came on, the chandelier above Francis had illuminated the room he had stumbled upon. The porcelain floors had been waxed to perfection, Francis could see himself if he were to look down. To his left was a grand stair case, the steps as well as the railing were cherry wood; also waxed to perfection. Upon on the red walls were giant Victorian mirrors, where the Englishman's reflection hadn't appeared in. The Englishman called out from one of the rooms down the hall, distracting Francis admiring the view. "Tea time!" Francis went down the old hall, and entered the new room. He was greeted by two Victorian chairs that resided on the opposite side of the wooden table. The mysterious Englishman stood over the two tea cups and poured their drink into two china tea cups, the giant window behind them was hidden behind the drawn maroon curtains; and the candles in the middle of the table lit up the room slightly. Francis took a seat across from the Englishman, examining him and the Victorian dining room. Silence fell, and the two of them took long blank stares or quick glances; the atmosphere was awkward. 

"Tell me, what brings you here to my home?" He had asked.

"I was looking for a place to stay since it was getting late." The Frenchman explained. "But don't get the wrong idea, I don't have an actual home. I stay in inns for a certain time and then find another." 

The Englishman stared deeply into the Frenchman's droopy round eyes, his sky blue irises which appeared gunmetal blue in the dark were focused on his hairy hands and the teacup in the plate sitting in front of him. The tea looked nothing like tea, it was a deep dark red; almost like blood. Francis took one sip and everything tasted thick and metal like. He swallowed it, and retorted in such disgust from the unsatisfying taste. "What.. kind of tea is this? It's red, it's thick, ...What is this?" Francis asked, watching the Englishman take full sips; still staring into the Frenchman's eyes. "Blood tea, I have made it myself. It's quite the refreshment, wouldn't you agree?" He smiled, revealing his teeth. Two of them seemed to be canine teeth, they were overall pearly white but a tint of orange and light brown remained at the sharp ends. The canine teeth suddenly alerted Francis, and a small wave of premonition along with an epiphany hit him. He suddenly bolted up from his seat, "A-Actually I think I had changed my mind monsieur.. I really must be going!" And with a nervous look on his face, he began to walk out in such a hurry; but was stopped by the Englishman suddenly as he shifted from his seat to blocking the doorway in the blink of an eye. "Why leave so soon? It's only a quarter to ten. You can continue your journey at daybreak-" he was interrupted.

"Non, I really need to go now! And how did you get in my way so suddenly?" He questioned in an unpleasant tone. 

"You can't leave. You're locked in, remember?" The Englishman laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come, I'll take you upstairs into the bedroom." He offered. Francis refused by shoving his arm and began to back himself away. "I don't know who you are or what you are up to, but I don't like it!" Francis beseeched. The Englishman responded by smiling contently only this time with his mouth closed and reproached the Frenchman, Francis had noticed the sudden dead-coldness of his hand and shivered a little before he had plopped down onto the couch again after realizing the sudden outburst. The Englishman knelt down. 

"Perhaps we had not introduced ourselves properly..." He began, "My name is Arthur Kirkland. Charmed, I'm sure." Francis quickly calmed himself down before focusing on Arthur once again. "What might your name be?" He asked in a sudden polite tone and soothing voice. Francis looked down, being offered a handshake. He hesitated for a few moments before he accepted this greeting. He shivered at the dead-coldness again as he replied, "Francis Bonnefoy, just a traveler. A pleasure." Francis laid back against the couch with a huff, laying his hand on his forehead. Arthur examined Francis, but he was also able to smell his blood and see it pump through his veins. He kept a sharp focus on his neck, Arthur began to lose some self-control as he felt his canine fangs grow into feeding mode; beginning to breath heavily. He soon quickly noticed his own hunger and covered his mouth; averting his eyes away from the Frenchman's neck. Francis began wincing, with his hand still lying against his forehead. He turned his head towards Arthur, the antique grandfather clock at the dark corner of the room rang for ten in the evening. "I have a headache... do you have anything that would get rid of it?" He asked in a soft, tired voice. Arthur turned his attention back to Francis, he felt his hunger began to rise inside of him again, but kept some control of his fangs. He had said nothing, standing in silence and giving off an ominous stare at the Frenchman. He went over to the table and burnt out two of the three candles with his two fingers, immune to the stinging burn. He turned back around towards Francis suddenly and slowly, yet creepily, walked towards him. Francis looked up alerted, and swiftly sat up from where he laid and carefully watched Arthur's body language in fear.

"...There's something you should know, Francis." He started in a low and hoarse voice, sending chills and anxiety to the Frenchman. "There is no exit nor any escape from my manor. Quite foolish enough for you to enter in uninvited to a home that belongs to a disgusting fiend like me." As he got closer, Francis got up and began backing away without paying attention to any nearby doorways or corners. He felt his hands sweat and his legs tremble; his blood began to rush from the anxiety. The room was almost dark, but not too dark for him not to see his surroundings. Arthur continued, now barring his canine fangs that were ready for feeding. "Foolish little Frenchman, clueless enough to stay in a home that is unsafe.. foolish little Frenchman.." Francis felt himself being back into a corner, but tried to move to the other side of the wooden walls quickly enough for Arthur not to catch. Suddenly, the doors around them had slammed shut. Francis made the risky attempt to approach one of the doors and tried to open it up, repeatedly turning the silver knob back and fourth. "Sir please! Let me out! You don't understand- I am not foolish! I-" Arthur began to finish his act of bloodthirst, his evergreen eyes had turned into glowing crimson red.

"Perhaps its time you'd learn your lesson." He lunged at he Frenchman, knocking him into the locked door and the two fell to the floor. Francis struggled, but was soon pinned down by the vampiric creature above him. Arthur's breath was felt on the Frenchman's neck before Arthur's canine teeth stabbed his skin and had sank into his juicy flesh. Francis hollered in response to the pain, it was like getting a needle put into you and having your blood drawn; in which what exactly was happening to poor Mr. Bonnefoy. He felt some bits of his blood trickle down his neck and onto the floor. When the English vampire had enough of his dinner he had let go of his grip, looking at the mark he made in the Frenchman's neck; which were circular wounds that had bled out. He went back and licked up the last of the small mess, Francis began to lose consciousness and his body began to grow more cold and more relaxed; now falling into his own demise outside of the deathbed that had awaited him. Before Arthur knew it, Francis was now silent and dead. He kissed his forehead and picked him up,now holding him in his arms like a baby.

"Sleep well, my beautiful prince of darkness." Arthur cooed. 


End file.
